Barricade Enroute To A New Paint Job
by LunaeShark
Summary: ‘07 movie-verse. My crack version of why Barricade vanished mid-scene during the highway chase in the first movie... Rated T for brief Cybertronian cursing.


**Sadly, I do not own Transformers.  
I DO own Dragon. Touch him without permission and  
I will not be held responsible for my sister's actions  
(she adores the character for some reason)**

**I can't remember if this idea was mine or my sister's,  
but she insisted I write it. Possibly she'll draw a picture to go with it;  
if she does, I'll put the link in my profile.  
However, she's got a pile of picture requests at the moment  
so mine has been relegated to the bottom of the list...**

**Basically I wrote this to get back into the writing groove,  
which I fell out of during Christmas vacation.  
Constructive criticism, comments and questions are welcome.  
Flames, as always, will be used to bake their writers.**

**To those waiting for an update in Keeping Secrets, ****thanks for your patience, I'll try to get a chapter up soon.**

**Happy New Year's!**

* * *

Barricade En-route...to a New Paint Job

Dragon couldn't sleep, so he decided to wander around town for a while. Being a spy, he didn't get much chance to sightsee, but the scenery of this town was nice and he was sick of being cooped up inside 24/7. His boss could yell at him later for endangering his mission. At the moment, Dragon was enjoying himself, even if the autumn night was chilly on his bare arms – the man had forgotten to grab a jacket. A white building caught his eye – Police Headquarters. Whistling, Dragon ambled through the parking lot. This time of night, no one was nearby to notice a tall man in dark clothes sneaking among the shadows, inspecting the police cruisers with a critical eye.

"Dings, dents, scratches and broken headlights," Dragon grumbled, folding his arms. "Don't these guys take care of their cars? I thought they were supposed to be an image of moral responsibility. Looks like they've been in more crashes than the rest of the county combined."

One of Dragon's greatest regrets in life was not becoming a mechanic; he had the knowledge and skill but never the chance to put them to use. After a moments' debate, Dragon metaphorically threw the spy rule book out the window and headed for a repair garage he'd seen on the other side of town. The night was still young, he could get at least a few of the cars fixed before dawn.

Breaking and entering was in his job description, and Dragon had the garage's lock open in seconds, ignoring the sign that said BEWARE RABID DOG. He pushed the door open a crack and let out a soft whistle. No scratching claws, no whines, no barking, no heavy weight being flung against the door. No dog. Rolling his eyes, the man slipped inside and headed for the wall of power tools, focusing on the battery operated ones, since he was unsure whether the police station had an outdoor electrical outlet.

Due to the lack of protection, Dragon had been convinced that this garage was a low end establishment, but the array of tools proved him wrong. Every device that could be possibly used for the repair of vehicles was either hanging from a nail, sitting on a shelf or lying on a table, along with a few odd things, like a tin can of old toothbrushes and a pile of horseshoes. Dragon began gathering the tools he needed, trying to keep his load as light as possible. Three cans of paint, a large tube of bondo, a small rubber mallet, wax and a hand-held combined sander and wax buffer were all piled on a corner of the table. Dragon was debating on the merits of a blowtorch when a crackling sound caught his attention. The man ducked instinctively and heard something fly past his left ear. A second later there was a loud crash. Whirling around, Dragon instinctively flicked on the blowtorch and aimed it at his would be attacker.

The only thing behind him was a small toy truck. It would have seemed harmless except for the fact that Dragon knew for certain it had not been there a moment ago. Tightening his grip on the blowtorch, he scanned the garage for any sign of movement.

"Come out, whoever you are," he called, then wished he hadn't when, right before his eyes, the toy truck changed shape, transforming into a robot about two feet tall. "What the hell?"

"The dog was sick today, I'm its replacement," Wheelie quipped, charging his cannons. "Any last words, thief?" The little Decepticon didn't really care about a robbery but the human _had_ interrupted his recharge cycle, and that warranted a death sentence in itself.

"Catch." Dragon threw the flaming blowtorch at the robot, snatched up the tools and dashed for the door. He didn't stop running until he reached the Police HQ parking lot. Slumping to the ground against one of the cruisers, Dragon gasped for breath, mentally replaying the scene in the garage. "Did that robot _talk_?" He shook his head. "I must be going crazy. Robots don't talk like that." Still shaking his head, the man turned his attention to the police cruiser next to the one he was leaning against, then frowned. "Now I know I'm going crazy." Rubbing his eyes, Dragon got to his feet and went over to run a finger down the cruiser's side. "No, that definitely says what I think it says. Who in their right mind repaints their cruiser like this? I guess the police chief hasn't noticed yet, or there'd be one less officer in the squad. Good thing I grabbed a sander." Dragon patted the cruiser's hood. "You're up first."

Wearing his night vision goggles for eye protection, Dragon went to work. First thing he did was sand off the incorrect words, the neckline of his shirt pulled over his nose so he wasn't breathing in the fine paint dust. Then he sprayed on a base coat of black, glad that he'd checked the paints' drying times. Thirty minutes was far better than twenty four hours. While waiting for the paint to dry he worked on pounding out the larger dents on other cruisers – for some unexplained reason the cruiser he was painting looked like it had come straight from the factory, with the exception of the unusual paint job. No bumps or scratches, just the strange words.

"Must be a joke," Dragon mumbled, giving the bumper of one cruiser a light spray of silver paint. "Maybe a few teens thought it would be fun to alter a police cruiser. No, I don't see how anyone could be that stupid." His watch alarm beeped, and, muttering to himself, the man went to check the paint. It was dry, and ready for the new writing. Very carefully Dragon drew the letters on, copying them from a different cruiser as best he could. When he was done, the man stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nodded in approval. It would take a professional to notice the difference between the two vehicles.

Bird chirping startled Dragon a few hours later, and he realized that dawn had arrived faster than he'd expected. Cursing, the man grabbed all the tools and dashed across town. He dumped everything in front of the garage door, then headed for the hotel he was staying at. Tired, but satisfied with the work he'd gotten done, Dragon collapsed on the hard mattress in his room for a few hours' sleep.

***

"_All Decepticons, mobilize._"

Barricade groaned inwardly, it felt like he'd just gone into recharge, though he'd been resting for almost a full day. Processors still warming up, he headed for the coordinates Starscream had sent, replying, "_Barricade en-route_." There was a brief chorus of agreement over the open channel, then radio silence as they regrouped and approached the Autobots. Barricade led, his sirens screaming, clearing a path down the center of the highway.

"_You do something to your paint, Barricade?_" Bonecrusher asked.

Focused on not colliding with any human vehicles, the tired Decepticon snapped, _"What are you talking about?"_

_"The Earth writing looks different, and...why is your faction symbol missing?"_

"What?" exclaimed Barricade. A quick scan revealed that the words had been altered - _To Punish and Enslave..._ replaced with _To Protect and Serve..._ - and his Decepticon insignia was completely erased. No, not erased, painted over. "_Oh, slag._" Ignoring Starscream's furious protests, Barricade took the next available exit and headed back to Tranquility. He was going to find the perpetrator of this outrage and beat the scrap out of him.


End file.
